"Oh, stop your grouching," counseled Rooster. "We're close to the creek now and we'll have plenty of time to catch a mess before it rains. Those clouds may blow over. Anyway, we've got a better chance to make a catch on a cloudy day." "Righto," asserted Garry. "I'm for the fish every time. A few drops of rain won't hurt us, anyhow." "It may make the wood too wet to burn, though," observed Ted Dillingham. "And there's no fun catching fish if you can't cook them." "I guess we can rake enough dry brush together for a fire," predicted Bill hopefully. "You fellows are talking as though we had a mess already," laughed Nick. "Perhaps we won't have a nibble." "We won't, eh?" scoffed Ted. "Just watch me land 'em! Say, who's got that can of worms?" Rooster Long produced that highly necessary adjunct to a fishing excursion, and the boys hastened their steps down the narrow woods path that led to the stream. It was by no means their first visit to the spot. The creek was an inlet to Bass Lake and abounded in fish that had many times had their numbers depleted by the young fishermen. "The fellows that don't catch any will have to build the fire," pronounced Garry Grayson, as he got his tackle ready. "Is that a go?" "Seems like rubbing it in," returned Rooster, grinning. "But you can't bluff me. Bet I land the first one." "And I'll get the biggest one," predicted Ted. "Brag's a good dog, but Holdfast's a better," remarked Bill Sherwood, with a superior air, as he baited his hook. Nick said nothing, but his line hit the water first and was grabbed almost immediately by a hungry perch that the boy landed in fine style. "I'll let the fish do my talking for me," and he grinned tantalizingly as he displayed his catch. "If it can talk more like a fish than you do, it's pretty good," Rooster came back at him. A few minutes later Garry landed a still bigger perch. Then Ted caught a catfish and Bill captured a bass. Other fish were captured from time to time, but luck constantly eluded Rooster Long, though several times he sought what he thought might be better positions for his purpose. At the end of twenty minutes Garry counted their catch. "Nine in all," he announced. "That's more than we can eat, and I'm as hungry as a wolf. Rooster's the goat. Come, varlet," he commanded, addressing that youth, "rustle us some brushwood and make a fire for your betters." Rooster picked up a fish and threw it at him, but Garry dodged and the fish caught Ted Dillingham square in the mouth. "Say!" sputtered that young lad indignantly, as he used his handkerchief vigorously, "why don't you hit what you aim at? Are you cross-eyed? Think I want my fish raw?" "There, there, Ted," said Garry soothingly, "you ought to be glad to suffer for a friend. Think of how much worse you'd have felt if it had hit me." "Not on your life I wouldn't!" grumbled Ted, still plying his handkerchief. "I'll smell that fish all day."